Clay Hands for Broken Hearts
by akasha-d
Summary: “Who told you Yamada?”Nomiya watched as confusion in her eyes faded slowly to grief streaked knowledge. It was one thing to know, but quite another to get proof of suspicion. It was not a pleasant victory to have.


Disclaimer: was not mine, is not mine, will not be mine…get the picture?

This is my first attempt at an Honey and Clover fanfiction. The anime ending of the second season had me weeping at several points (train station confession anyone?) and subsequently grabbed me and molested my muse (Pokes growling Pugsly-muse) and just WOULDN'T LEAVE ME ALONE.

Pugsly (also my pet terrier) demanded sweet fluffy tributes so as to finally shut her up. And much like any of her other demands…she got what she wanted.

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Clay hands for broken hearts. **

"_Hollow yourself out. Clay does not speak but it softly whispers and only a hollow heart can hear its most gentle sigh. And with this sigh your hands carve from original body its rightful shape, its most beautiful shape. Do not forget this Yamada."_

Sitting before the spinner, Yamada allowed the words of her treasured teacher echo softly in her head. Work roughened fingers teased the spinning clay before her into its whispered form. Her eyes were dull as they always were when she made delicate art through the hollow within her.

In this sun lit room, time stilled to replay itself in the smooth spinning of her clay.

Yamada was always blissfully unaware of her own beauty, both inner and physical. From his silent perch against the doorframe, Nomiya suppressed a sigh at the innocent beauty that was Yamada in her clay stained apron and her hands up to the elbows in brown muck. Despite her dreary surroundings, the young woman still firmly reigned over her surrounding like an angel in sunlight.

All that sap, just from the view of the back of her head. Nomiya wanted to smack himself.

She was too beautiful for her own good.

Yamada smiled secretly to herself. She knew well and good that she was not alone in her small workshop but she kept her eyes firmly on her clay. The vase was nearly complete and it wouldn't do to be distracted now.

"Give me a minute Nomyia, I am nearly done here." She said distractedly

Nomiya's surprise was nearly tangible throughout the small sunlit room "Hoi, have you grown eyes behind your head or something? I swear I didn't make a sound."

With a swift flick of her finger, Yamada turned off the electrical spinner before her to a slow decent to stillness.

Chuckling softly, Yamada gently lifted the freshly formed clay onto the waiting tray.

"This room always smells like wet or baked clay, so when I am suddenly smell cologne, familiar cologne none the less, I figure as much that it would be you."

"Ah, so I suppose I will have to give up my cologne for the sake of surprising you. It is a heavy price to pay Yamada-san."

It was only then that she turned around to meet him eye to eye. As he suspected, her eyes were still in their semi-dull state that they always were when she made her pottery. That didn't stop him form nearly gasping at the sheer beauty of Yamada draped in bright sunlight.

But gaping was UN cool, and subsequently must be stripped from his vocabulary.

"But Nomiya-kun, you would still smell like yourself, and after all this time even that scent is recognizable to me." She answered, her eyes slowly regaining the spark of life that made them dear to all who caught sight of them.

There were times when she was seated before her spinner that Nomiya swears he can never fully understand her. There is a deeper wisdom at work with her when she becomes one with her art that at times scares him because he is unable recognize at all. This wisdom comes out more often with him then with anyone else and for that fact alone he finds that he is not too bothered by it.

"Did you just imply that I naturally stink?" Nomiya's twitching brow was proof that the man was not as self assured as he claimed to be.

That once again broke Yamada into a soft chuckle. "Nothing of the sort, I was merely saying that you are so familiar to me I could recognize you by scent alone, with or without perfume."

Gracefully tugging up the finished vase, Yamada made her way to the already pre-heated Kiln and smoothly slid in the vase to be baked overnight.

Nomiya tried to hold down the swift bubble of pleasure that being so recognizable to Yamada brought up, even as he firmly was not staring at Yamada as she bent over to insert the vase into the Kiln.

He failed at both.

Reaching over for a stained rag, Yamada tried to rid herself of most of the clay that clung to her fingers. Despite the familiar rhythm of her movements, Nomiya recognized an alien stiffness in her shoulders, a firm straightness in her back that went against her original nature.

Knowing what was to come; Nomiya sighed and leaned against the wood of the doorway. "So who do I have to kill?"

There was a moment's pause as the words sank in.

"What?" with a sharp twirl around, Yamada nearly smacked Nomiya in the face with her clay stained rag. As usual, Yamada's response used up twice the energy and enthusiasm needed for mere human communication.

Bright blue eyes burning holes in his head, Yamada reminded Nomiya of part overbearing mother and part violent dog. His mother didn't have blue eyes and a rabid dog didn't have Yamada's roundhouse kick, so this situation was infinitely more delicate.

Thankfully, Nomiya had recently become an expert in the art of Yamada-defusing.

"I merely enquired as to which individual that I should dispose off, hopefully in a rather gory way, for performing a transgression of which I have clearly informed all of our associates to stand clear off."

The total confusion on her face replacing the fading anger of the young woman was testament to Nomiya's continuous existence.

"Uh…what?" Wide blue eyes blinked in cute confusion.

Nomiya was hard pressed not to smile at that face.

"Who told you Yamada?"

Nomiya watched as confusion in her eyes faded slowly to grief streaked knowledge. It was one thing to know, but quite another to get proof of suspicion. It was not a pleasant victory to have.

Tearing her eyes away from him, Yamada twisted the cloth between her hands and mumbled her response.

"It's not like its some big secret or anything. They are my friends after all, its only right I should be there to greet them."

"And that is why you are hiding in the workshop?" Nomiya asked sharply.

"I am not hiding!" Yamada insisted, once again catching the gaze of knowing brown eyes.

"So the fact that you have not come out of this room or talked to anyone in the last twelve hours has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Mayama and Rika are on their way back from Spain?"

Her retort died on her lips, along with the light in her eyes. Not for the first time, Nomiya curse his lot in life to be the 'hurt to heal' doctor in Yamada's life.

Tearing her eyes away from his, fiddled with the rag cloth in her grasp.

"I just needed time to think. That's all. It's only been a couple of months since Hagu's accident. I am not really sure I'm over it yet."

Nomiya sighed. "Yeah, six months, and by it you mean _him _right?" sometimes being the good guy royally sucked.

Yamada silently wrung the cloth nervously between her fingers. In her eyes, a very familiar slash of guilt shone clear.

"Have we or have we not gone over this about a thousand times?"

Sliding himself forward, Nomiya placed himself directly in Yamada's line of sight. With deft fingers her grasped her chin, and forced her to meet his eyes.

"I don't care. It could take years, but I know what I feel. Even if you are still hung up on him, I still don't care. As far as I am concerned, what we have right now might be as good as it ever gets and I could be content with that, not happy mind you, but content."

As expected, a thin film of moisture gathered in the corner of her eyes.

"You are a stupid man, do you know that?"

"So, I've been told, but there is this blond I know who beats herself bloody for caring too much about people and then cries about it. Personally I think she takes the cake."

She snorts, or perhaps it was a sob, Nomiya didn't have much of a chance to decide which before he finds his arms full of sobbing girl.

"Hey, watch the tears, this shirt is dry clean only." Nomiya said lightly, even as he curls his arms around her shaking body. "Mayama is an idiot, I know a good thing when I see one, and I never take no for an answer."

"You make me sound like a saint." She mumbles into her shirt.

"I never said you were one. That just what you do, and that is the same reason you are the only non celebrity to have ten proposals in one hour."

She smiled into his now damp shirt at the memory of the dear boys that flocked around her in their last days of university.

"But you still haven't answered my question though." He said.

"Which one?"

"Who do I have to kill for telling you about their arrival?"

She smacks his chest lightly before pulling away from him. "None of your business."

"Of course it's my business, I need to know who I need to kill right? I can't just go around killing everyone who tries to talk to you. There would be far too many bodies for me to hide!"

Laughing lightly at his attempt at humor, Yamada enjoyed the rare physical contact she shared with Nomiya.

"So you are going?" He asked, almost dreamily as he tucks one and behind her neck between warm flesh and silky hair.

"Yes, I think its time…time to face up to this."

He sighed, savoring the feel of her within his arms. "That's good to know, I despise driving alone. Plus I've already booked the van, and you're the only one who can keep Mayama from being a back seat driver"

"Why a van?" she asks absently.

"NO reason, I enjoy the space of it."

Looking down at her former head rest/ tissue, despite the instant peak of curiosity Yamada is suddenly seized with an urge to run away at top speed.

"Uh, Nomiya."

Looking down worriedly at her, he wanders what could have triggered the mood swing form livid to nervous once again. "Yes?"

"Do you have a spare set of clothes in the office?" Looking firmly down at his shirt, Nomiya wanders at Yamada's sudden interest in his clothes.

That's when he sees the twin botches of brown-ish grey clinging to his very expensive, very clay stained shirt.

"YAMADA!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I totally forgot about it I swear!"

Rushing his way to a nearby sink in a desperate attempt to remove the clay stains on his shirt, Nomiya curses is lot in life to be the living handkerchief of a very pretty, emotional, pottery inclined girl.

The things he did for love!

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Please drop in some reviews if you think this story is worth, and feel free to be critique it as you feel fit.

more reviews happy me faster update…

Simple, no?


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